


no handle bars

by ben_jaded



Series: Anywhere, Anytime [2]
Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Begging, Dirty Talk, M/M, Politics, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Throne Sex, Top T'Challa (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 07:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15968009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ben_jaded/pseuds/ben_jaded
Summary: “You know, I got no objections, but I didn’t actually come here for sex.”T’Challa arched a brow. “Really? That’s a first.”





	no handle bars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quixotesque](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quixotesque/gifts).



> This fic is brought to you by the entirety of Pleasure P/Pretty Ricky's discography and my lovely enabler/fellow T'Challa lover/beta for this fic [quixotesque](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quixotesque/). 
> 
> Quix, I'm gifting you this fic because you managed to motivate me to write 5k+ of smut in a day and turned this lump of coal into a diamond.
> 
> Title is from this [song](https://youtu.be/YNd2_v3UgIo).

Briefly, Erik scanned the faces of his students in the lecture hall. The room was packed with nearly every seat taken and the only sounds that could be heard were the deep baritone of Erik's voice and the rhythmic sound of busy fingers rapidly clicking on keyboards. Most students were fully immersed, listening attentively and diligently taking notes as Erik pointed at the many holographic displays hanging in mid-air.

It was still an amusing thought to Erik that he was now an instructor at Wakanda’s Naval Academy and not a King, the goal that had driven the majority of his life. When he’d finally chosen to integrate into Wakandan society, he’d first worked as a consultant for P.R.I.D.E, Wakanda’s intelligence division, but had soon grown weary of that. While his insight into the CIA had been welcome, Wakanda already had spies embedded in just about every intelligence agency around the globe. 

Next, he’d worked for the Wakandan Navy, putting his experience as a Navy SEAL to good use, but when a Captain had recommended he become an instructor at the Academy, Erik had jumped at the chance. Most of the faculty members were either former Hatut Zeraze or ex-military personnel, people he found himself able to relate to, make real connections with, and even call his friends.

Erik now taught a range of courses, including calisthenics, tactical combat training, and a Naval Weapons Systems course. Though it had been a rough start, he’d grown to like the challenge teaching presented. He’d had to learn how to lecture, hold seminars, give and grade exams. The hardest being how to advise his students and safely push them past their limits, and how to evaluate participation in class. Like every challenge presented to him, Erik had risen up, adapted and developed from the experience.

Now it was easy and comfortable to stand in front of all these young faces and share his knowledge. With a swipe of his hands, Erik sent out the electronic reading assignment and homework for the next session. “Some of you might be glad to know that the hour is up and I have to stop talking now—” there was a smattering of laughter across the hall, “so we’ll be finishing this unit next time. If you’ve got any questions, you can see me after class or shoot me an email.” A second broad sweep of his hand and the various screens vanished.

As the students were leaving, Erik gathered up his presentation aids, only stopping to field questions from a few stragglers. He packed up his messenger bag and did a final circuit around the room, looking for any items his students might have left behind before shutting off the lights and leaving himself. The two Royal Guards that accompanied him everywhere he went followed suit.

Outside, Erik felt warm air enclose him and he tipped his face up to the sky, soaking up the heat of a late afternoon sun. Inhaling deeply, he savored the clean scent of the air, took in the traffic noise and the shuffle of students and faculty alike as they made their way across the sprawling campus. Located in Birnin Azzaria, the campus comprised of the three major branches of Wakanda’s Royal Armed Forces.

As he strode towards his office, Erik contemplated the rest of his day. He could stay on campus and get some work done or — a sudden and overwhelming longing hit him — he could see if there was any chance of finally spending some time with the husband he’d barely seen over the past few weeks. 

Pulling up T'Challa’s daily itinerary on his kimoyo bracelet, Erik wasn’t surprised to find that the schedule was as packed as ever. Between Erik’s current course load and T’Challa’s ever-changing schedule, it was an ordeal to have any time for themselves, let alone spend that time together.

Despite his former dreams of kingship, bureaucracy and politics were something that Erik abhorred and in this new life of his, he left governing Wakanda mostly up to T’Challa. Erik was a man of action; he set objectives and single-mindedly pursued them. He'd only had to attend one National Assembly session while T’Challa was out of the country to realize he wasn’t meant for politics. How T’Challa could preside over those sessions of squabbling day in and out, Erik didn’t know, and it had even made him grateful for the Taifa Ngao who thankfully didn’t spend weeks on end deliberating over the simplest of legislation. As Prince Consort, he usually attended the weekly council meetings whenever his schedule permitted or if the policies being discussed were of interest to him.

But now, with the COMESA summit coming up, T’Challa was stuck in meeting after meeting, week after week. Erik understood the necessity — the summit would be Wakanda's first big step into joining an intergovernmental organization in Africa. Wakandans, in general, were resistant to change and aside from joining the UN, the nation had barely participated in international politics. 

It had taken over a year for the National Assembly to agree on joining the African Union and now they were deliberating over joining COMESA, a regional trade agreement between a multitude of East and South African nations. Erik supposed they were probably going to lose another year. He understood the significance of Wakanda entering a multilateral free trade agreement, the fear and the skepticism of the people when Wakanda was a self-reliant country and stood to gain little from joining. Even so, there was no excuse for them dragging their feet; this shit should have been done and over with ages ago. 

At least then he wouldn’t have had to deal with a lack of T’Challa in his days. They’d always made time to see each other, no matter how busy their conflicting schedules got, but lately, they seemed to keep missing each other and Erik was tired of waking up to a cold bed, only communicating with his husband via hologram. He wanted the warmth of T’Challa’s body. His knowing touch, his smell, the sound of his laughter ringing in Erik’s ear as they lingered in bed. 

The pang of longing hit him again, still so viciously strong. This was the first time Erik let himself consciously acknowledge what he’d been feeling for a while. Biting back a frustrated sigh, he looked at T’Challa’s swamped schedule again. At this point, he would settle for them just meeting up for a quick lunch.

— 

A cacophony of sound greeted Erik as he stepped into the National Assembly Building of Wakanda. The building was located only a few blocks from the Royal Palace and it housed all the parliamentary activities in the country. Like all Wakandan architecture, it was reinforced with vibranium, even the gargantuan floor-to-ceiling windows. 

Making his way through the mad hustle and bustle of the large, sunlit corridors, Erik felt some of his irritation melt away at the knowledge that T’Challa was here, only minutes away from him.

The floor where the Taifa Ngao held their meetings was the quietest. The wide, high-roofed corridor that led to the council chamber ended at massive double doors, where a mixture of Dora Milaje and Royal Guards stood with perfect posture. Their armored uniforms of red and brown, gold and black, shone vibrantly in contrast to the stark hallway and its white marble, glass windows, steel pillars. 

“Sup,” Erik said as he approached. His gaze lingered on the closed doors, anticipation already sweeping through him. “They still in there battling it out?” 

“Of course they are,” Aneka replied. She chuckled and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “I am certain you will be a welcome sight for our beleaguered King.” 

One of Erik’s Guards, Khuselwa, chuckled, and then quickly coughed to cover it.

Erik laughed and only said, “This is why you’re my favorite.” And Aneka was. Combat instructor for the Dora Milaje, she was one of Erik’s regular sparring partners and very proficient at kicking his ass. 

The rapport between them both — between the Dora, the Royal Guards, and Erik as a whole — was the result of hard work on Erik’s part. Building and maintaining trust had been easier with the Guards as he dealt with them the most often, while the Dora Milaje were primarily T’Challa’s bodyguards and his closest friends. Trust from them had been grudgingly given. 

They saw him first as an _abezizwe_ , their enemy, someone who had killed one of their own, tolerated only because they trusted T’Challa’s judgment. Erik had understood their suspicion, and overwhelming desire to protect T’Challa, even if it had been from him. He respected them — their skill, their loyalty, their code of ethics. So they’d built something that worked for them around the one thing that bound them together: T'Challa. He was the King the Dora Milaje had chosen to follow and he was the man Erik loved. 

His thoughts circling back to T’Challa, Erik gestured for his Guards to stay behind as the heavy, decorated double doors opened for him and then the second set of doors followed suit, revealing the council meeting chamber. Right now, all he wanted was intense, frenzied, sweaty sex with his husband and he felt no shame about it. It didn’t particularly matter to Erik that just about everyone knew what he was there for. He didn’t care about anything beyond getting what he wanted and what he wanted above all else was T’Challa. 

Love, it turned out, was a hell of a drug. Erik had never anticipated he’d one day fall victim to something he used to sneer at, but it had happened anyway and he couldn’t bring himself to regret it, not when what he shared with T’Challa motivated, empowered, and filled him with a sense of purpose he’d thought he’d lost that day on the Mound. 

T’Challa made him feel wanted and needed. Erik liked knowing that he could always rely on T’Challa, that he would always be there for him, even when — _especially_ when they fought and Erik felt a strain of that old, terrible anger. 

It was an entirely new experience and a new responsibility to know that he was vital to someone else's happiness. That he was willing to do whatever necessary to see T’Challa’s dreams become a reality. And the fact that the feeling was reciprocated made him strive to be the best that he could be, because Erik wanted to be worthy of that much adoration. 

When he stepped over the threshold, the occupants of the room fell silent. Erik swept his gaze across to the center of the room, where T’Challa sat on his throne, surrounded by his advisors and with Okoye by his side, her spear held in a loose grip. As if T’Challa were a flame and Erik a moth, Erik’s eyes were always drawn to him, and as if T’Challa could feel Erik’s gaze like a physical touch, T’Challa immediately looked up. Smiled happily, widely, like Erik was the best thing he’d ever seen. 

Erik felt the swell of a now familiar and frequent affection in his chest and smiled back. “Aight, it’s break time,” he proclaimed abruptly and ignored any startled glances, his boot heels echoing loudly in the stillness of the room as he walked across the glass floor toward his husband. 

T’Challa stood, his stare and the inviting warmth in it unwavering. Erik took in his form and felt his mouth turn dry with appreciation and want. Fuck, T’Challa was gorgeous as usual. He looked resplendent in shimmering, light grey kurta and trousers, the charcoal, embroidered waistcoat on top adding a touch of sharp luxury to his outfit. 

“N’Jadaka,” T’Challa murmured tenderly. He met Erik halfway, his smile welcoming, his lips dropping a teasing kiss to the corner of Erik’s.

“T’Challa,” Erik replied, a broad grin stretching the entirety of his face like a _sappy fucking fool_ , but Erik didn’t give a shit. He reached out a hand and T’Challa enclosed it in his large, powerful grasp, the simple touch enough to send Erik’s pulse racing. He drew in a breath. 

The world fell away until it was just the two of them. Erik couldn’t hide the yearning he felt as he hungrily eyed T’Challa, drinking in the familiar planes of his face. And it was fine because T’Challa was drinking him in, too, smiling still as he wrapped his arms around Erik’s waist and pulled him in closer. Erik reached up, lightly touching the crinkles that always formed around T’Challa’s eyes whenever he smiled, a beloved sight. 

The spell was broken by the sound of M’Baku snickering. “Is it too much to ask that you lovebirds keep this to your bedroom?”

Erik looked over at where the Jabari chieftain sat, the chair barely holding his hulking frame, and a lazy grin spread across his face. “Just for that,” he drawled, “Imma smear come all over your seat. In fact — ” 

Before he could continue, T’Challa slapped a hand over Erik's mouth. "Please ignore my husband. He doesn't like to think before he speaks."

Erik licked his palm in retaliation, causing T’Challa to drop his hand. 

It wasn't as if they hadn’t fucked in here before. Erik was pretty certain his bare ass has touched every surface in this room, including M’Baku’s chair. He could still remember the first time they’d had sex in here, vibranium cold against his heated skin, the view of Birnin Zana at high noon illuminating the room, the sound of their fucking echoing throughout the vast chamber with the statue of Bast as the only witness. 

“We will see you tomorrow, my King,” the Elder from the Mining Tribe stated, a knowing smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She had a firm grip on M’Baku’s arm as she pulled him out of the room. 

“Y’all should probably leave, too,” Erik said to the hidden Dora Milaje standing guard on the raised alcoves surrounding the room, “unless you want a free show.” 

Okoye’s judgmental gaze was the last thing Erik saw before the door closed and they were finally alone. 

“You really are shameless, N’Jadaka,” T’Challa said. In spite of his words, there was a heated look in T’Challa’s eyes and Erik’s body was already responding, his cock stirring. 

“Am I?” Erik asked with a wide grin. 

“Ridiculously so,” T'Challa replied, voice filled with fondness. “You’re nothing but trouble, but I love you nonetheless.” Cupping Erik’s chin, he grazed his thumb over Erik’s cheek before pressing a soft kiss on Erik’s parted lips. 

Erik’s eyes fell shut. A relieved breath escaped him, taking with it the weight of anxiety he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying all this time. He kissed T’Challa back, reveling in the softness of his husband’s lips.

God, T'Challa was such a dork. He openly expressed his emotions, always telling Erik that he loved him as if Erik would ever forget the way he uttered those words so sincerely. Erik didn’t need to be reassured that he was loved — he knew it now with every inch of him — but hearing it never lost its impact and always managed to perfuse Erik with warmth. T’Challa made him soft. _Happy_. So fucking happy that it scared the hell out of him. He never wanted to lose this.

“How go the negotiations?” Erik asked in lieu of a response, running his finger over the embroidered writing on the collar of T’Challa’s waistcoat, feeling the smoothness of the ornate raised pattern of Wakandan text under the pad of his thumb. Though he enjoyed hearing T’Challa’s declarations of love, Erik rarely said the words himself, preferring actions over words, and T’Challa knew him well enough to take no offense.

Heaving out a weary sigh, T’Challa moved his hands to rest on Erik’s hips. “The hard part at least is over now. We have finally come to some decisions.” His exhaustion was plain and Erik almost felt guilty. 

When talks of trade had been brought up during a council meeting, he’d recommended joining a regional trade bloc as their next step in integrating Wakanda into international politics. But the fact that it had taken at least a month to finish going over the terms and conditions of the COMESA Treaty was a testament to Wakandan obstinacy, and they had yet to even submit their application to gain member status. 

It would be readily granted to them, no doubt; there was no logical reason the countries across the continent would deny themselves the guidance of Wakanda’s wealth and technological knowledge. While Wakanda did have some trade agreements with the surrounding nations, it was nothing on the scale of COMESA. The majority of COMESA consisted of developing countries who typically relied on agriculture to sustain them; trading with Wakanda would bring great benefits to the entire region, allow it to prosper the way it should’ve flourished all along. 

Erik might not agree with T’Challa’s kumbaya, ‘we’re a single tribe’ nonsense, but he did understand that the easiest non-violent route to freeing Africa from their reliance on foreign aid was to boost economic growth. The world was run by money and Wakanda had plenty of it. Money started and ended wars, caused famines, crippled or saved developing countries. Economic oppression was one of the biggest issues affecting Africa, colonial taxes still robbing and punishing those who had dared to seek independence, but once Wakanda had total control of the continent’s economy, that would come to an end. Erik would make sure of it and T’Challa would be there every step of the way, the best ally Erik could ask for.

Mouth curling impishly, Erik leaned further into T’Challa and said, “Maybe I should attend the next session and put the fear of Bast into them.” Their bodies were so close, he could feel nothing but the incredible heat radiating off his husband. A side-effect of the Herb, T’Challa always ran warm, and it was fitting, Erik thought, when everything about T’Challa was warm and golden. 

T’Challa laughed. “What a tempting offer,” he replied huskily, his gaze steadfast on Erik’s as he splayed his hand against Erik’s abdomen. “Almost as tempting as the one making the offer.” The heat of his palm felt scorching against the thin material of Erik’s dress shirt. His fingers caught the edge of the shirt where the line of buttons held it together and with a small tug from T’Challa, Erik’s shirt came untucked in the front.

Erik’s pulse thundered loudly in his ears.

“It’s always on the table if you need it,” he replied, unable to break the stare. A spiral of anticipation whirled through him. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

T’Challa toyed with the hem of Erik’s shirt, his fingers grazing Erik’s skin, the tautness of his abdomen. The corner of T’Challa’s mouth was quirked up like he knew exactly what he was doing to Erik, like he knew a steady buzz of heat was already bursting through Erik and blanketing his skin. 

Erik bit back a moan when T’Challa pushed up the fabric and stroked his stomach and made Erik crave more: more of his touch, more of his mouth. God, Erik wanted to kiss him, wanted to get lost in the taste of T’Challa’s mouth.

Cupping T’Challa’s nape, Erik brushed their mouths together and watched with satisfaction as heat flared in T’Challa’s eyes again. He loved when T’Challa looked at him like that, that mix of hunger and possessiveness as if he might devour him. Erik would let him. He would do so much to keep T'Challa and that sometimes scared him, too.

It was all-consuming, what he felt for T’Challa. Erik felt it rise in him again, all that fiery desire, spilling out in a groan as he seized T’Challa’s lips in an urgent kiss, pouring his longing, his frustration and hunger into it. _Finally,_ he thought, feeling the relief with his entire body. This is where he wanted to be, where he was meant to be: in T’Challa’s arms with their bodies fit tightly together enough that it was hard to tell where he began and where T’Challa ended. T’Challa hummed his approval, thumb stroking over Erik’s hipbone, and kissed Erik back just as fiercely. 

A low whine vibrated throughout Erik’s body. Reluctantly, he broke the lock of their lips. “I missed you,” he whispered into the scant space between their mouths, letting the truth settle quietly in the air. “I missed this.” And he had, more than he could reveal to even T’Challa. He’d ached keenly for the feel of T’Challa’s mouth against his, the strength of his arms, his hands, his body as T’Challa crushed Erik against him in a fierce embrace. Erik could have stood there for hours, just kissing him, getting reacquainted to the taste of his husband. 

T’Challa made a sound, soft and pained, in his throat. “I’m sorry, N’Jadaka,” he whispered back, “if I’ve been neglecting you.” Before Erik could reply, T’Challa desperately melded their mouths together again like he wanted to make up for lost time. 

Erik returned the fervor, clutching at T’Challa, opening up immediately when he felt the flick of T’Challa’s tongue against the seam of his lips, his entire body blazing up at the first brush of their tongues. 

Their moans blended into one loud, hungry sound as T’Challa kissed him harder, deeper, with teeth and tongue and an intensity like he wanted to devour Erik entirely. Erik wanted to consume him too, moaning and groaning into T’Challa’s mouth, gasping for breath when the need for air finally forced them apart. 

“I’m going to make it up to you,” T’Challa said, tracing Erik’s lower lip with the tip of his tongue. One of his large hands stroked down Erik’s back and gripped his ass, unmistakably possessive, while his mouth pressed soft kisses to Erik’s mouth, his eyelids, his cheeks, down the length of his neck. 

“And how you gonna do that?” Erik teased, arching an eyebrow. He pressed his hips forward, grinding the evidence of his arousal against T’Challa. “You gonna do something with that hand you got on my ass?”

T’Challa lifted his head, his eyes boring into Erik. The intense heat in his eyes made Erik want to tremble. 

“If that’s what you want,” he breathed against Erik’s lips. He closed the distance again and lightly brushed their mouths together. 

“Yeah?” Erik said. He slid a palm downwards and cupped the growing thickness he found there. “So this all for me, T?” T’Challa’s cock hardened even further in Erik’s hand and he couldn’t help biting his own lip at the groan T’Challa let out as Erik squeezed him. “This all mine, baby?” 

“Only yours,” T’Challa rasped, leaning helplessly into Erik’s touch, letting out a small whine. 

Erik’s lips curved into a smile. He ran his finger over the zipper of T’Challa’s trousers, trailing along the hardened length until he could flick the button open. “You missed me too, huh?” 

Taking the zipper in his hand, Erik slowly dragged it down an inch, knuckles brushing the erection straining against the black material of T’Challa’s boxer briefs.

“Are we playing games now, N’Jadaka?” 

Erik chuckled, lowering the zipper another inch. T’Challa’s cock twitched under his hand. “Maybe,” he replied, “this is exactly what you deserve for neglecting me. All those nights alone in that big bed with no one to satisfy me.” He lowered his voice, made it soft and beguiling, his knuckles pressing gently against T’Challa’s hardness as he murmured, “I was so empty, T’Challa. Where was my man to fill me with his massive cock?”

T’Challa groaned as if he were dying and buried his face against the side of Erik’s neck, the moist heat of his stuttering exhales fanning gently across the sensitive skin there. Erik barely stopped himself from shivering. 

“You enjoy torturing me,” T’Challa murmured as if he really were in agony. 

“Just a little.” 

“I wanted to be there. Don’t ever think I didn’t. I thought about you all the time. Wanted you all the time.” T’Challa’s hand, still sitting on the swell of Erik’s ass, squeezed down again. His voice was rough with lust and honesty as he said, “I should’ve just walked out to find you and buried myself inside you.” 

Something clenched hard and tight in Erik’s stomach — his body’s agreement to T’Challa’s heated words.

“You should’ve,” he huskily replied, and drew the zipper all the way down, slipping his hand inside to free T’Challa’s straining length. 

T’Challa was fully hard now, heavy in Erik’s hand, shining at the tip. Erik licked his lips at the sight. He wrapped his fingers around the width, stroked his palm down the thick length. 

T’Challa grunted low, thrust into it, jerking his hips and pushing against the heat of Erik’s palm. “N’Jadaka,” he murmured, seemingly to himself, and Erik never loved the sound of his name more than when it was wrapped in T’Challa’s voice.

“I know,” he said, rubbing his thumb across the leaking head before sliding himself down T’Challa’s body and onto his knees. Leaning his forehead against T’Challa’s strong thigh, Erik breathed in. The heat and scent of T’Challa’s hard cock was a drug he could never resist. It made his mouth water every time. Fuck, he couldn’t wait any longer to suck this dick. 

“I’ll never get enough of seeing you on your knees for me, N’Jadaka,” T’Challa said, his fingers dropping to gently scratch along Erik’s scalp. 

A few years ago, Erik would’ve seen only humiliation in those words. Now all he saw was T’Challa’s sincere appreciation. He squeezed the base of T’Challa’s cock and rubbed the plump, wet head across his lips so that T’Challa’s pre-come stained them. The lingering heat and weight against his mouth made Erik moan deep in the back of his throat and he gave in to the urge to flick his tongue out. “Missed this, too. You’re fucking delicious,” he whispered, licking the sensitive head and groaning appreciatively at the salt of pre-come hitting his tongue. 

T’Challa hissed sharply, his entire body tensing. His hand clutched at Erik’s locs when Erik kissed the crown of his cock, then opened his mouth and pressed the flat of his tongue to the underside. 

Looking up, he met T’Challa’s steady, heated gaze and the naked want he saw there sent a shiver of desire running down his spine, his cock throbbing in the uncomfortable confines of his slacks. It was a heady feeling to be the sole receiver of that enthralling, devouring stare. Erik wanted to preen, but instead, he grinned, flashing his golden canines, and felt the jerk of T’Challa’s cock in his hand. He closed his mouth around it, finally sucking T’Challa in deep.

Erik knew he had the power to make T’Challa fall apart under his touch. He knew what made T’Challa tick and exactly how much suction was just too much. He knew how T’Challa’s cock would twitch if he ran his teeth across the head and he knew when to flatten his tongue and flick the tip into the slit. He knew that T’Challa loved the way Erik licked and sucked his balls, that he couldn’t help the guttural noise he made when Erik relaxed his throat and swallowed him whole. And he knew that the surest way to make T’Challa come was to moan around his cock while massaging his taint, making him curse and tug at Erik’s hair in warning before he spilled himself down Erik’s throat. He could write a book on pleasuring T’Challa, but he would never — this intimate knowledge belonged only to him. 

Erik got lost once more in the deep, hoarse sounds of T’Challa’s pleasure, in the feel of T’Challa’s thick cock in his mouth and his hand tight in Erik’s locs, in the minute twitches of his hips as he tried to stay still, trying not to buck up and fuck Erik's throat raw. A part of Erik wanted that: T’Challa’s cock plunging into his throat and fucking his willing mouth until Erik cried from the force and choked on T’Challa’s come.

It was only T’Challa’s ragged, “N’Jadaka, _stop_ ,” that brought Erik out in the haze he’d fallen into, and Erik peeked up at him from under his lashes, blew a warm breath against T’Challa’s cockhead.

“Something the matter, T?” he asked, feigning an innocence that was at odds with how raw from T’Challa’s cock his throat already felt.

“This isn’t what you came for, is it?” T’Challa asked, tugging on his fistful of Erik’s dreads as he usually did. Erik wasn’t above admitting to himself that it was the single most important reason why he would never cut his hair. 

“Not this time,” he replied, licking up the hot length he couldn’t get enough of. “I want this dick inside me. I want you to fuck me stupid.”

“Then come here.” T’Challa was already hauling Erik up and back into his arms. “Let me make love to you.”

Their mouths crashed together in a deep, hungry kiss like they still couldn’t taste each other enough, Erik’s gasp lost in between the tangle of their tongues. He peppered T’Challa’s lips with quick pecks even when they came up for air, their ragged breaths mingling. 

“You drive me crazy,” T’Challa whispered harshly. 

“Good,” Erik replied. “It’s what you do to me, so we’re even.” 

T’Challa’s warm, calloused hand slid up the back of Erik’s shirt, stroking a path of fire up his spine, and Erik strained against him, wanting more. T’Challa skimmed down his back, over the mound of his ass, cupping and kneading them, angling their bodies until their cocks were aligned and their hips fell into a slow, languorous rhythm. 

The ache in Erik’s cock grew. They weren’t even naked yet and he felt close to coming. He squeezed T’Challa’s hips in a grip that would’ve bruised anyone else and buried his nose along the crook of T’Challa’s neck as they rutted against each other with dirty thrusts and lazy grinds. 

It wasn’t enough. Erik wanted skin-to-skin contact. “‘Challa,” he whispered, biting sharply at T’Challa’s jaw, his neck. “C’mon, baby.” He swallowed, a dry click in his throat. “I need you.” 

T’Challa’s hips stilled. Erik lifted his head and looked into his eyes, seeing his hunger reflected there.

“I know,” T’Challa said. “I’ll take care of you.” He pressed a kiss to Erik’s bared throat, then licked his way to the hollow. “I want to undress you. Will you let me? Let me savor you before I give us both what we want?”

How could Erik say no to a request like that? He loved the feel of T’Challa’s hands on his body, the quiet reverence in his touch. As if he would never get enough of Erik, even if they had an eternity at their disposal.

“Yeah,” he answered breathlessly. “Yeah, OK, I’ll play along for now since you asked so nicely.”

T’Challa smiled, trailing his fingers over the curve of Erik’s collarbone and flattening his palms against the hard planes of Erik’s chest. Erik tensed under his touch, his nipples hardening to pinpoints. T’Challa kept one hand on his sternum — over his heart, where it beat wildly — while the second hand set to undoing the buttons of Erik’s shirt. With the flick of his fingers, the button at Erik’s throat came undone. One button at a time, he worked his way down. 

Erik stood still as T’Challa undressed him, focused entirely on his husband’s unhurried movement. He shivered slightly at the gentle pressure of T’Challa’s touch against his chest.

“Is this what you wanted, N’Jadaka?” 

“We’re getting there.”

Erik hissed when T’Challa skimmed a blunt nail over his nipple, caught between leaning in and arching away. 

“So hard to please,” T’Challa said, pretending to chide.

Another button fell from its hole, his shirt opening wider as T’Challa’s hand slid down again.

“Oh, I’m _hard_ , all right.” 

“And terrible at humor.” 

The shirt fell to the floor when T’Challa released the final button and pushed the fabric apart and over Erik’s shoulders. 

Erik let it, riveted by T’Challa’s sultry stare as it raked hungrily over his naked chest. 

“You’re so beautiful,” T’Challa murmured with the same awe he showed Wakanda itself and Erik felt the headiness of being at the center of T’Challa’s undying admiration.

Under the pleasant weight of that flattering gaze, he raised his arms above his head and stretched lazily like a cat, knowing it only made his body appear more inviting, its bulk and strength and the play of light on his skin on show. “And you a man with excellent taste,” he said playfully, kicking off his sandals, forcing himself to stand still and wait for T’Challa’s eyes to drink their fill, but it was pointless — T’Challa would never have his fill of Erik and Erik wasn’t made for patience. 

T’Challa chuckled when Erik reached for him with a demand of, “Touch me,” but complied, stroking over the column of Erik’s throat, smoothing his hand over Erik’s clavicle and down his marked torso. There was no hesitancy in T’Challa’s touch; he’d never shied away from Erik’s scars. He knew what they stood for and accepted them for what they were: a part of Erik’s history, something that had played a role in who he was. Now they were something that made Erik’s body sensitive to T’Challa’s caresses. The scrape of his nails had Erik tensing, shuddering, growing drunk on the feel of T’Challa’s calloused hands on his body as if he’d gone without touch for centuries. 

Right now, it felt like he had.

“So perfect,” T’Challa said when his fingers caressed the ridges of Erik’s scars where they lined along his abdomen, and then down towards the curve of his unmarked hips. 

Erik couldn’t hold back a whine at the finger that dipped under the waistband of his slacks and caressed the tip of his cock. “Fuck, T, making me wait like this. You tryna kill me?” 

“Just a little,” T’Challa replied, wearing the same amused little smile Erik had worn when he’d uttered those words before.

“Thought you were s’posed to be above revenge and that shit,” Erik managed somehow despite T’Challa palming his cock. 

“You haven’t seen revenge yet.” 

Leisurely, T’Challa popped the button open, slid down the zipper, and pushed Erik’s slacks over his hips. He tugged them down and Erik let them fall, stepping out of them, standing in his boxers. He sucked in a rush of hot air when T’Challa hooked his fingers in the sides of the boxers, and drew them down his legs, slow like he was unveiling something precious and worthy of treasuring. 

Heart hammering against his chest, Erik stepped out of them too, standing completely naked before T’Challa and those perceptive eyes that always made him feel exposed in more than just the physical sense, as if T’Challa could see everything that Erik was.

Erik heard the way T’Challa’s breathing roughened and felt the hot caress of his gaze along his body and it made him feel powerful, got him intoxicated on being wanted so much. 

“What’s taking you so long?” he asked, voice overflowing with the same desire he saw in T’Challa. “You just gonna stand there and admire me or are you gonna do something?”

“Or something,” T’Challa replied, his fingers trailing teasingly up Erik’s sides, mapping the newly revealed skin. The casual scrape of his fingernail over Erik’s nipples made Erik grunt, push up a little into the touch. 

His breath caught in his throat and Erik had to swallow down a whimper when T’Challa bent his head to lavish each nipple with a kiss, tasting the small dark buds like they were delicacies, tracing his tongue around their pebbled shape. 

Erik’s nipples were too sensitive, a fact that T’Challa shamelessly used to his advantage. He was using it now, dragging his teeth over them like he wanted to scrape them raw, his beard rasping hotly against Erik’s skin. Erik could only make keening sounds that he’d deny later, heat rushing through him, his hands desperately grabbing hold of T’Challa’s shoulder to anchor himself as he arched, offering himself to that greedy mouth. 

“Fuck, you know what this does to me,” Erik panted out as T’Challa sucked at him hungrily, enflaming the stinging left behind by his teeth and sneaking his fingers in to tweak at Erik’s nipples. Erik let out a tortuous groan. This was pure agony. Much more of this and he’d be lost. Much more of this and he would come. “Hold up,” he gasped, low and pleading, grabbing hold of T’Challa’s head. “Don’t wanna come like this.” 

T’Challa backed off with one last kiss to Erik’s heaving chest and slowly made his way up to Erik’s mouth, his breath hot as it fanned across Erik’s lips. “If we had the time, I’d make you come in every way I know how.”

A shaky breath left Erik’s mouth at how much he wanted T’Challa’s words to become a reality. “When we do have the time, you better remember you said that.” Craving the feel of T’Challa’s skin against his, he finally noticed that T’Challa had yet to lose a single item of clothing. That needed to change. “You getting naked anytime soon?”

“So impatient. What happened to you playing along?” T’Challa said as he slid his hands up the hard lines of Erik’s shoulders and around his neck to cradle his head. Erik groaned — leaning in, his arms wrapping around T’Challa’s waist — when T’Challa began massaging his scalp. T’Challa’s fingers slowly moved down and rubbed soothing circles on the skin just below his ear, then at his nape, his other hand resting on the small of Erik’s back, holding his body close.

It was those innocent touches more than anything that brought Erik to the end of his control. After weeks deprived of this, he couldn’t have T’Challa so close, his hands on Erik’s body and his taste still in Erik’s mouth, and not want more. Want everything. 

“T’Challa,” he murmured heavily, swallowing, trying to reach for words through his need, but struggling. “T’Challa.” 

T’Challa understood anyway. His broad hands came to sit firmly on Erik’s hips and pull him flush against his body. “Lift your legs and wrap them around my waist,” he commanded, his voice vibrating with desire. 

Erik could do nothing more than comply. 

His stride unhurried, T’Challa easily supported his weight as he carried Erik toward his throne. Once T’Challa sat down, Erik adjusted his position. He felt the stretch in the backs of his thighs as he moved to straddle T’Challa’s lap, his knees pressing into the throne next to T’Challa’s hips, bracketing him. Hands braced on either side of T’Challa’s shoulders, Erik crushed their mouths together in a desperate, demanding kiss. 

T’Challa grasped his ass tightly and closed the distance between their bodies. Shivering at the feel of him through the fabric of his kurta, Erik ground against him in a silent plea for more, luxuriating in the friction of T’Challa’s hands, the roughness of his callouses against Erik’s thighs as they rasped against the smoothness. 

Erik arched his neck as T’Challa lowered his mouth toward his throat, scraping along the taut tendons at the side before he nipped at Erik’s shoulder, dragging his teeth across the scars there. 

Erik worked his hand between them, fumbling with the buttons of T’Challa’s waistcoat until he could strip him of the garment. Only the kurta was left, the final barrier between Erik and the naked skin he wanted to feel so badly. His hands slid up under it, rucking it up against T’Challa’s clothed thighs until his straining erection was revealed. 

Erik paused in his quest to strip T’Challa naked, and fisted his cock instead. He pumped the length, flicking his thumb over the crown, spreading the moisture there. T’Challa groaned, leaning forward to brush a sloppy kiss across Erik’s mouth as Erik cupped his balls and stroked him, thumbing at the leaking slit until T’Challa shuddered. 

“I,” Erik whispered, turning his head to kiss T’Challa’s neck just below his ear, keeping his mouth there, breathing hot and heavy, “I need you to fuck me. I need you to make me sore and wet. I wanna ache from your dick, T’Challa. Wanna keep what it feels like to have you in me until you can fuck me all over again.”

“N’Jadaka,” T’Challa growled and halted Erik’s hand. “No more games. I’ll give you the ache you want so much. You won’t go anywhere without still feeling my cock.” 

The promise burrowed in deep, brand-hot, and made Erik burn up with anticipation.

Releasing Erik’s wrist, T’Challa reached into the pocket of his trousers to pull out a condom and a small vial of lube.

Erik couldn’t help his little snort. He’d wondered where T’Challa had hidden his stash of supplies. Out of necessity, they’d both gotten in the habit of discreetly carrying lube and condoms. 

Erik loved sex and he was lucky to have a partner ready, willing, and able to fuck anywhere and anytime the mood struck. Before coming to Wakanda, he’d enjoyed an active sex life, always managing to find someone on shore leave or in between deployments, hooking up with mostly women and the occasional man. They'd been quick, meaningless flings, nothing more than physical satisfaction. 

Sex with T’Challa was different. No matter how rough or slow, sex with him was always intense. Everything about him overwhelmed Erik's senses. The smell of him. The taste of him. The feel of him. Aside from their great chemistry in bed, there was an emotional connection that Erik had never felt before. It wasn’t just sex to satisfy their hunger for each other. It was more. The need, the craving, the desire, it never abated. 

“Something amusing, N’Jadaka?”

“Just nice to know you always got the goods on you.”

“I’m always ready when it comes to pleasing you.”

“You’re so corny, babe,” Erik said, grinning, stroking his fingers through the hair at T’Challa’s nape and dropping a kiss onto his mouth. 

T’Challa reached for Erik’s cock and stroked it in a loose, lazy grip. “How do you want to do this?”

“Like this,” Erik answered, his hips rocking in time to T’Challa’s strokes. “I want to see your face when I come.”

T’Challa splayed one large palm across Erik’s lower back. “Lift up for me,” he instructed against Erik’s parted mouth.

Erik’s hands went to T’Challa’s shoulders for balance as he shifted, avidly watching T’Challa flick open the vial and cover his fingers with its slick contents.

Exhilaration shot through him at the wet feel of T’Challa’s finger slipping between his cheeks, brushing against the tight ring of Erik’s hole. It was a glancing touch, but Erik’s entire body shook, his breath stalling in his chest. T’Challa circled then pressed against his hole, never breaching his entrance, just teasing, a gentle pressure that made Erik want to lose his mind. 

“Fuck,” he gritted out, gripping tightly onto T’Challa’s shoulders as T’Challa continued with the torturously light strokes.

T’Challa’s voice was hoarse as he bent forward and spoke hotly in his ear, “Are you ready for me?” 

“You know I am,” Erik croaked, throat dry. He pressed his forehead against T’Challa’s and pushed down with his hips, gasping as T’Challa’s thick finger slid into the tight heat of his body and sent a shower of sparks trailing along his nerves. 

T’Challa moved slowly, pressing upwards, crooking his finger. “So hot and tight,” he panted against Erik’s ear, the words coming out husky and low. “I am going to lose my mind being inside you. I always do.” 

“I’m counting on that.” Erik ground down into T’Challa’s strokes, wanting the exquisite caress of those fingers to slide deeper, right into the hot heart of him, but T’Challa took his time, progressing deeper ever so slowly, his finger rubbing in time with his mouth as he took Erik’s lips and swallowed his moans and gasps. 

Erik only grew louder when T’Challa added a second finger, stretching and filling him some more, giving him just what he’d craved. “Oh, fuck,” he exhaled, his voice laced with need. He arched his back as T’Challa’s fingers twisted in him, brushing along his prostate, pleasure rolling through him wild and bright. “Right there. Give it to me right there.”

“You always take my fingers so well,” T’Challa said, rocking in and out of Erik, easing more of his tightness until he could add in another finger, fucking Erik’s hole open in easy glides and lewd sounds. 

Erik swore, rolling his hips, moving in tandem to T’Challa’s thrusts as they picked up speed, hitting his prostate on every stroke and all he could do was hold on as heat spiraled and rushed through him. He was on the edge of losing control, overwhelmed by T’Challa’s lips suddenly dropping down onto his nipples. His mouth was hot and voracious, his fingers a fierce twist inside Erik. 

“T’Challa!” Erik hissed, undulating his hips. “C’mon, get in me. Get in me right the fuck now.”

T’Challa made a humming sound, mouth slipping wetly off Erik’s bitten-tender nipple, the look in his dark eyes contemplative. 

Erik knew what that look could lead to. T’Challa could keep him on the edge for hours when he set his mind to it, but Erik didn’t want that. He wanted to be stuffed with T’Challa’s cock, every inch of him bursting with the incredible fullness. So he did what he always did when he wanted things his way: he softened his voice, filled it with need, and murmured, “Please, baby,” into T’Challa’s ear like a siren’s song.

T’Challa knew what Erik was doing — they both did — but that didn’t stop the satisfaction blooming on T’Challa’s face at hearing Erik beg. “You’re so beautiful when you’re hungry for my cock. You know I can never say no to that voice.”

He slid his fingers out of Erik’s body, a whine falling out of Erik’s throat at the loss. They locked eyes as T’Challa tore open the condom packet and slowly rolled it on, then coated his length in a generous amount of lube. One hand on Erik’s hip, he took his cock in hand and held it steady. “Let me hear it again, N’Jadaka. Do you want me?” he asked, dipping his head to press his mouth against Erik’s sweat-slick throat. “Do you need me?”

“Yes,” Erik breathed out, closing his eyes, throwing his head back. “I want you. I need you, I’m on my fucking knees for you. Please, T.”

“Then take what you need,” T’Challa said and bit down hard enough on Erik’s throat to make his entire body quiver. “You don’t need to be empty anymore. I’m right here.” 

“T’Challa,” Erik whispered gutturally when T’Challa let go with his teeth and Erik could find his voice again. He licked his lips and shifted until his feet were flat on the glass floor, its coldness a relief. T’Challa scooted forward and Erik’s legs straddled his thighs, hovering over his cock, the fabric of T’Challa’s trousers rubbing against him. 

“Look at me as you sink down onto my cock,” T’Challa said in a voice that demanded obedience, his King’s voice. 

Erik’s eyes flicked down helplessly, meeting that intense gaze, and slowly he lowered himself, shuddering at the feel of the head pushing past his rim, the burn of his body stretching and molding around T’Challa. A perfect kind of pleasure was beginning to creep over him, scorching his skin, making his nerves sing. 

Chest heaving, Erik grasped at the arms of the throne. T’Challa leaned back, breathing deep, eyes at half-mast as he watched Erik work himself down with gentle rocks of his hips, getting used to T’Challa’s girth. His fingers had been nothing on this, the thickness of T’Challa’s cock demanding all the space inside of Erik, laying claim to it, opening him and keeping him opened until he was entirely filled, gasping and feeling nothing else but T’Challa. 

Eyes sliding shut in ecstasy, Erik panted, “Touch me.” He ground his hips against T’Challa’s length, his toes curling tight, heels digging into the floor. “Please touch me. You gotta. Fuck— ” He lifted up until the head remained inside him and sank back down in a long, determined stroke, a long whine leaving his throat. T’Challa’s hands smoothed up and down Erik’s back to the curve of his ass in gentle glides as Erik set a slow and deep rhythm, finally satisfying the longing built up in him over the weeks. 

T’Challa matched his pace, his hands sliding across Erik’s sensitive inner thighs, his abdomen, his chest, tweaking his nipples and making his breath hitch. “You should see how good you look,” T’Challa said, low and fierce, as he teased Erik’s cock and balls, then traveled further down to tease at where they were connected, his touch electric at that hot, slick place, making Erik jolt. “I’ll never get enough of you. Never.” 

“Then don’t,” Erik moaned out, pausing for breath, “don’t let me go for so long without this again. Fuck me in front of them. I don’t give a shit. I’ll sit on your dick every meeting, just don’t — ” 

“I won’t. I promise I won’t deny you this again.” 

“You feel so fucking good inside me.” Erik’s body went taut as a bow, arching against his husband’s chest and clamping down hard on his cock. T’Challa looked gorgeous on his throne, dark skin gleaming with sweat, the muscles of his regal body defined as it gave pleasure to Erik. He was still every bit a King even when consumed with lust, and Erik wanted him even more. 

“This is where you belong,” T’Challa growled into his ear. “Spread completely open for me and speared on my cock, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Erik shivered, circling his hips and undulating against him. “Fuck me, ‘Challa,” he pleaded, breath coming out in fast, jagged pants. “Like you said you would. Please, baby. Just fuck me, show me how much you missed this ass—”

He didn’t get a chance to say another word. T’Challa’s mouth slammed down on his, and he began fucking Erik in earnest. Giving in to the brutal strength of his passion, he held tight onto Erik’s hip bones while he set an unforgiving rhythm, driving Erik down fast and hard onto his cock. 

Erik made a deep, garbled noise in his throat, wrapping his arms tightly around T’Challa’s neck, losing his mind as T’Challa steadily pounded into him without mercy, as if he wanted to wreck Erik with the searing pleasure. Erik met his thrusts as best he could, thrusting down frantically, barely able to breathe between each one and feeling off-kilter in the best way possible. 

There were no more words between them, just the obscene sounds of their desperate fucking, of T’Challa’s taking Erik’s body again and again. Erik let him, holding him tightly and urging him on with his growls. It felt like T’Challa was filling every inch of Erik as he pounded into him with relentless need. Erik knew he would have bruises on his hips tomorrow, but he didn’t care, would only relish them later, digging his fingers into them to make them stay longer. 

“You’ll come for me, won’t you?” T’Challa asked, his voice guttural as he kneaded Erik’s ass, his thrusts gaining power and speed as they both raced towards release. 

“Yes, yes, fuck yes,” Erik groaned out. The tension building tight in his stomach, radiating out towards his limbs, grew tighter, his body straining under the weight of all the sensations. It was all he wanted: to come for T’Challa, to have T’Challa come inside him.

“Show it to me, come for me,” T’Challa demanded, reaching for Erik’s cock trapped between them. He mouthed at Erik’s chest, his jaw, his mouth, the scrape of his teeth blunt and his beard raking at Erik’s skin, a trail of fire left in its wake. His hand was similarly ruthless, stroking Erik roughly, urging his orgasm onwards. 

It was the faster strokes that did Erik in, every muscle in his body tensing sharply. “Oh, fuck,” Erik moaned, breathless as his orgasm rippled through him. He shattered, coming apart in T’Challa’s arms. His head fell back as waves of pleasure racked through his body. He cried out, a loud, throaty sound, spilling over T’Challa’s hand, his cock pumping out streams of come in an orgasm that seemed to stretch on forever until eventually the bliss lost its almost excruciating sharpness and Erik went limp against T’Challa, panting hard.

T’Challa was still thrusting inside him, his face buried in Erik’s neck until he finally stiffened and shuddered, coming with his teeth sunk into Erik’s shoulder, the spark of pain as good as the pleasure, satisfying something simple in Erik that wanted to feel T’Challa’s completion and know that he’d been the one to take his husband over the edge.

It took him long moments to return to his surroundings and to the man who sat beneath him. He could feel the touch of the sun on his skin, T’Challa’s warmth surrounding him, shielding him from the coolness of the room. 

T’Challa was placing tiny kisses along his temple to his forehead and running a hand soothingly up and down his back. The warmth of him was too inviting for Erik not to burrow deeper into his arms, trailing a finger up along the corded muscles of T’Challa’s bicep. 

Eventually, T’Challa softened and began to slip out. Erik sighed at the loss, but stayed where he was, quietly enjoying the soft kisses T’Challa was dropping along his throat and the gentle petting of his hands all over Erik’s tired body. 

Erik tipped his face up and met T’Challa’s wandering lips, his kiss intense and full of purpose. 

When T’Challa lifted his head and pulled away, his eyes were serious with a hint of guilt. “I missed this.” 

“Yeah,” Erik replied, settling his hands on T’Challa’s bicep, feeling the muscle flex under his touch. “We should’ve done this sooner.”

T’Challa moved his free hand to touch his face, running his fingers along Erik’s jaw and down to his chin. “I meant my words. I will not let this happen again.”

“I’ll be your reminder, just in case,” Erik told him cheekily and pulled him into another kiss. He teased T’Challa’s lips open and bit into the fullness of the lower one and they shared long, lazy kisses, tongues twining together, lips working slick and soft and tender, unwilling to part. 

When they did have to, Erik lay his head against T’Challa’s shoulder. He watched the rise and fall of T’Challa’s chest, the way his pulse beat at the base of his throat. 

Toying with the teeth of the Black Panther habit, Erik couldn’t help but ask, “What's the point of this charade?”

“What do you mean?” 

“You're gonna submit the application, anyway. So why you wasting all this time jumping through these hoops if you're gonna do it whether they agree to or not?”

T’Challa sighed. “I do not wish to impose my will on the people. The Assembly is their voice and they are skeptical. I’m giving them a chance to share their discontent.”

Erik wondered if T’Challa knew how cunning he sounded right then. The arrogance of it all, not wanting to impose his will, but still getting what he wanted in the end by outwaiting the Assembly until they finished dragging their feet because, in the end, they always saw it his way. He probably did know but considered it a necessary approach and Erik really couldn’t say he disagreed or disapproved. The belief that everything T’Challa did was toward the betterment of Wakanda was what always got the Assembly in the end. He was so earnest about his desire to see Wakanda flourish; it was at the heart of all his skillful strategy. 

“So everybody wins,” Erik said.

T’Challa shrugged. “Essentially, yes. They voice their complaints and as their King, it is my duty to take their concern into consideration and ease their fears. Wakanda is in uncharted territory. There is only so much we can push for before the people revolt. Allaying their fears is the least we can do.” 

“Spoken like a true leader. With that brain, though, I still think you’d make for a good villain.” 

T’Challa’s chest shook against Erik as he laughed. “Better than you?” 

“Oh, hell, nah. We don’t need to go that far.” 

T’Challa laughed again and let it rest. They sank back into a peaceful silence again, but it wasn’t long until they were interrupted by the chime of T’Challa’s kimoyo band.

“Is it important?” Erik muttered as T’Challa shifted his hold on him to pull up the notification.

“It’s a lunch break reminder.”

“You know, I got no objections, but I didn’t actually come here for sex.”

T’Challa arched a brow. “Really? That’s a first.”

Erik swiftly pinched his side. “I came to take you to lunch like the _good, considerate_ husband that I am.”

“I see, I see.” T’Challa brought his mouth over Erik’s and gave him a leisurely kiss. “Well, then, good, considerate husband of mine, I had a great lunch.” His voice dropped low and turned seductive, pulling at something hot in Erik’s stomach. “The best I’ve had in a while.”

“Oh, I bet you did. So same time tomorrow?” 

“Please,” T’Challa answered emphatically and Erik laughed against his mouth, loud and carefree.

**Author's Note:**

> Things to note:  
> \- abezizwe is Xhosa for outsider  
> \- Birnin Azzari is a canon city in Wakanda, it’s located south of the Great Mound.  
> \- Wakanda does have a military force. I just added a university cuz they gotta get trained somewhere.  
> \- PRIDE is Wakanda’s intelligence agency.  
> \- As of Coates run in the comics, Wakanda is in the early stages of becoming a constitutional monarchy. So my biggest problem when coming up with how Wakanda’s government would work was deciding if I wanted it to be a bicameral or a unicameral system and how much power I wanted T'Challa to have as a monarch.  
> \- Both the African Union and COMESA (The Common Market for Eastern and Southern Africa) exist. With how isolationist Wakanda has been painted in the MCU, I don’t see them as having joined any international organization other than the UN and World Trade Organization (WTO). Maybe Non-Aligned Movement (NAM). 
> 
> I’m one of those people who believes that if T’Challa is serious about sharing Wakanda’s wealth and technology with the rest of the world, Erik as his consort would push for an “Africa first” agenda. You start in your home court and move outward. I’m also one of those people who doesn’t see Erik becoming a War Dog once he’s settled in Wakanda.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


End file.
